


For Your Own Good

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Detroit: Become Human [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Russian Roulette, Suicidal Ideation, feedback is appreciated!!, more chapters? maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: Hank likes to play a game with his revolver.





	1. Chapter 1

Hank couldn't see straight anymore.

How much booze had he drank? He had lost count after three or four. He couldn't stop staring at the smiling picture of Cole -- of little, young, innocent Cole -- who was dead now, who had been dead for… God, he didn't want to think about it. His hand tightened around the gun in his hand.

Connor shouldn't be stopping by for at least twenty minutes. That's what he thought, when he looked at the clock with crossed, glazed eyes.

He looked down at the black revolver in his hand. He liked to play a game with it -- it would be a fucking miracle if he remembered the name of it now. He flicked open the chamber, a single bullet resting inside. He spun the barrel a few times before a flick of the wrist shut it once more. Hank placed the gun to his head, hand unsteady from alcohol. His finger curled around the trigger and pulled it.

_Click._

Hank sighed, pulling the chamber open and repeating the process before placing the gun against his head once more.

_Click._

Frustrated, Hank made sure the next shot would do it. No use fucking around anymore. Cole was gone, and he had no reason to hate the androids anymore. All he had left was his stupid job and his stupid habits. He knew that if he didn't kill himself now, the possibility that he'd die from a failed liver was constantly looming over him.

The gun slipped out of his hand, and Hank grumbled and cursed. It bounced off the table and onto the floor -- if he was sober, he'd wonder why the gun didn't go off. But as it were, he moved to grab it again when a knock sounded on the front door.

“Fuck,” Hank hissed, almost falling to the ground as his hand curled around the handle of the revolver. He placed the gun to his head again when the door opened.

“Hank?” Connor’s voice called. “Are you here?” The man chose to remain silent, instead pressing the gun to his head harder. It’s not worth it anymore, you fucking disappointment. Just pull that damned trigger, Hank. Make it all go away. _What are you waiting for_?

“Hank, I know you're here. I checked all the bars you frequent.” A pause. “Are you sleeping?” Footsteps made their way towards him. _Why aren't you pulling the trigger_? _You're not_ afraid, _are you_? Tears began to make their way down Hank's face against his will, blurring his vision further.

Connor finally stepped into his field of vision, and Hank couldn't for the life of him understand why the android had stopped moving. A long silence stretched between them.

“Hank,” Connor started slowly, as if he was talking to a frightened, cornered animal, “what are you doing...?”

…

What _was_ he doing? Connor took a step towards Hank, hands out in front of him. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened around the gun pressed to his head.

“D-Don’t you fucking try to tell me everything's okay.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. “Don’t you fuckin’ _dare_ , Connor --”

“Hank, I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?” Hank’s hand trembled violently. “If you do not calm down, you may accidentally pull the trigger.”

“Get the fuck outta my house, Connor.”

“If I do that, your chances of survival will drop dramatically.” A pause stretched out between them. “Hank, can you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“You appear to be confused, and you’re hesitating. There must be a reason you’re hesitating, Hank. Can you explain why?”

“I-I….” Hank felt like he was going to throw up. “I don’t know -- I don’t fuckin’ know --!”

“Can you tell me why you want to shoot yourself, then?” Hank froze. His tears were a constant now, soaking into his beard. Connor knelt down in front of him. “...I cannot help if you do not tell me.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help,” Hank whispered. He could see Connor’s LED -- it had been yellow ever since it had come into his vision -- it flashed red for a brief moment. He didn’t give a fuck what that meant, now, but his eyes were drawn to the motion. Anything but looking into Connor’s eyes.

“You may not ‘want’ my help, but you certainly need it.”

“Fuck you.” Connor gently reached out a hand. “Don’t you touch me --”

“Hank, I have contacted the authorities. They should be here any minute now. Just give me the gun, please.”

“Why’d ya fuckin’ do that? I don’t _want_ help. I don’t _need_ help.”

“Hank, I --” Connor paused, his LED flashing from yellow to red. “I… you mean a lot to me. And this is… giving me an emotion I cannot place. I am… I believe I am feeling fear.”

“Connor, what the fuck’re ya talkin’ about?”

“I care about you,” Connor said, more firmly. “It would upset me if you were to die.”

Hank froze. “...What?” His grip loosened on the gun in his hand, and Connor quickly swiped it out of his hand before pushing Hank to the ground. The lieutenant struggled and kicked, shouting at the android and twisting his arms this way and that in an attempt to free them. Connor swiped the gun out of Hank’s reach.

“You are not going to die, Hank. Don’t worry, help is almost here.”

“Get the fuck offa me!”

“If I get off, your probability of survival will drop dramatically.”

“Connor, I swear to Christ --”

“Hank, do you take any medication? Do you go to a counselor?”

“Why would I fuckin’ do that --”

“I would suggest going to see a doctor.” Hank arched his back, then went limp, breathing hard and body shaking with sobs.

“Connor -- I….” The android tilted his head.

“Hm? What is it?”

“I can’t fuckin’ do this anymore,” He finally wheezed out. “I-I… I can’t do this, Connor. I don’t… I can’t….”

“Hank, you need to calm down.” He looked towards the door when the familiar sounds of sirens reached his ears. “You are safe. I will be with you, and we can get through this.”

“I don’t matter.”

“What do you mean? Of course you matter. I --” Connor paused. “I… love you.”

“I-I….” Hank’s chest heaved, and he let out a broken sob. “How do you love this…?”

Connor reached down and planted a kiss onto Hank’s forehead. “I’ll tell you once you deal with your police friends. They were worried when I contacted them.”

“F-Fuck you.” A knock on the door.

“The door is unlocked,” Connor called. The door opened. Hank gave him a withering look. “I’m sorry, Hank. This is for your own good.”


	2. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank can't stand looking at himself in the mirror, at all the imperfections.
> 
> Connor promises he will remain by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't expecting people to want more.
> 
> Super sorry it took a while, I've been in a slump.

Hank stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Post-it notes were left forgotten on the walls, reminders to smile, questions if he should clean up his unkempt hair.

Speaking of which, the graying stands were falling in front of his eyes, the strands clumping together from grease and neglect. His eyes were dull, half lidded, and rimmed with red and grey. His tank top was covered in either vomit or whiskey -- hell if he cared what anymore, and he had eventually gotten used to the stink.

At least Sumo didn't complain.

He looked over his body. Imperfections and wrinkles covered him. Shoulders covered in faded scars from when he had acne as a teenager, scars from when he'd been weak; there was a soft peppering of freckles here and there. He had a rather large scar that still tingled if he turned the wrong way on his torso -- damned that red ice investigation, the fucking drug had come back stronger than ever anyways.

Let them ruin their lives. They were all fucking idiots. Just like him.

They found their comfort through a fistful of powder. Hank found his at the bottom of a bottle, through Russian Roulette.

Tears -- real tears -- burned in his eyes, for the first time since Cole's death. Why couldn't he just be normal? How could he have fallen this far down the rabbit hole? He couldn't even take care of himself properly anymore.

The first tear plopped onto the sink. Hank grit his teeth. His stomach rolled, his hand itched to hold something. He needed to do something, _anything_ , to dull the agony, the _despair_ he was feeling. He needed…. 

He needed pain.

Fowler and Connor had swept through the home when they had gotten Hank stable; Gavin had been asked to watch him. Like hell he was going to let that prick stare at him with that look in his eyes, that condescending smirk that told Hank all he needed to know.

After the bathroom had been cleared of anything that Hank could potentially use, he'd practically ran to it and shut the door. He'd hesitated, then locked the door with trembling hands.

“...Lieutenant? You've been in there for a while now with no noticeable activity.” Hank let out a long breath through gritted teeth. Why did _Connor_ , of all people, think _Hank_ was worthy enough to stop him from shooting himself? He desperately tried to will the lump in his throat away before he spoke next.

“Go away.” Hank cursed himself when he noticed how broken, how quiet, his voice sounded. “Why can't you just ever leave me alone…?”

The doorknob turned slightly. “Lieutenant? Why did you lock the door?” Connor's voice rose from the soft, careful tones he'd been using since he'd found Hank in the kitchen to something hard and authoritative.

“I need to be alone.”

“Being alone is not beneficial for your --"

“I don't _give a shit_ if being alone is going to lower my fucking chances of survival -- or did you not just save my goddamned life?” Silence. Then, Connor's voice drifted through the door.

“...I ‘give a shit’, Lieutenant.” Distantly, Hank swore he heard Gavin snort. He was going to relish the day someone finally decided to deck him -- and that someone might be him, the way things were looking. “I want you to be alive -- here, with Sumo and I.”

Hank opened his mouth, throat clamping and tears beginning to trickle down his face faster, soaking into his beard and plopping onto the sink. “Connor,” he choked out, “I --"

“Can you open the door for me? Please?” The soft tone was back again.

Hank bit back what he was going to say about Connor never listening to him, instead fumbling for the lock and turning it. The android opened the door slowly, LED flickering from red to yellow to blue, then back to yellow. His expression softened at the tears on the lieutenant's face.

“Lieutenant….” After a second of thought, Connor held his arms out, a questioning glint in his eyes. Hank's face crumbled even more, the memory of hugging Connor after the revolution had succeeded flashing through his mind. The android was probably on a similar track of thought.

Hank stepped forward, and melted into Connor's (still surprisingly) warm embrace. The android moved back and forth slowly, shushing the lieutenant softly when he let out shuddering sobs.

“I've got you, I've got you.” Hank gripped at Connor's back, tears soaking into Connor's (much more casual) outfit. “It's okay now, I've got you. It's going to get better.”

Hank tried pushed back the thoughts that threatened to tell him otherwise, but they screamed at him, demanded to be recognized until he couldn't resist them anymore. He buried his face into Connor's shoulder, tears increasing tenfold, and one of the android's hands rose up to comb through Hank's hair while the other rubbed perfect circles into his back.

“It's alright, Hank, let it all out. I'll still be here. I promise.”


End file.
